


a dripping rose (made of gold)

by genesius



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Coming In Pants, Cunnilingus, Exhibitionism, Hand Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vibrators, Voyeurism, crowley avoids making an effort altogether, which was not the plan originally but the ace in me just kind of jumped out at the last second there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22892413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genesius/pseuds/genesius
Summary: smut with a tiny bit of plot. title is from gold by chet faker.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115





	1. ask...

After Armageddidn't, it seemed like nothing had changed, really, except perhaps some of Aziraphale's literary inventory. But things certainly _felt_ different - at least, between them.

They didn't have sides anymore, for one, and therefore didn't have anyone to answer to, so they spent their days at home, caring for their books and plants, occasionally going on romantic outings together. It was a bit like retirement, almost.

And, as they no longer needed to live by the standards of higher or lower powers, they were free to express themselves without fear of repercussion. Gone were the days of clandestine meetings in St. James' Park, old bandstands, and No. 19 buses; now they could be themselves, together, completely openly.

The first night after their trials was a bit of a revelation, but in hindsight, it really shouldn't have been. They'd kissed each other goodnight in the soft light streaming in through the windows of the Bentley, promising to meet up again soon, and neither of them thought anything of it until about ten minutes later. After a rushed phone call (which clarified that that was, indeed, their first kiss) and a quite informal confession, they both realized that they'd already known, and that the only thing to do now, really, was to show it.

And show it they did. They didn't go out any more often than they had before, but now they could give a name to their dates. (They hadn't really called them dates before, but what else were they? Appointments? Meetings? It should've been obvious they were dating, really, and it was, they'd just never thought about it before.) When they walked, their hands would seldom be seen apart. Kisses were planted on hands, cheeks, and sometimes even lips. Sweet nothings were murmured over wine and coffee alike.

It felt good. And they knew it didn't have to be anything more. But there was the nagging thought at both of their minds, that it _could_ be more.

"More" was quite a daunting subject, though.

Aziraphale was the one who first suggested it. 

The Bentley had just slowed beside the bookshop, and Aziraphale's hand was already on the door handle.

"Crowley?" he began suddenly.

"Hm?" 

"I've been thinking," the angel said, staring very hard at the dashboard, his hand returning to his lap, "about… us."

Crowley studied his face, curious. "Go on?"

"Well, um," he stammered, "as you know, we have bodies, loosely. We can change them, of course, and humans can't do that, and we don't actually need to eat or drink, whereas they do, so all of this might be completely ridiculous, but, er, I've been researching," he said, "about the human brain."

Crowley cocked an eyebrow. 

"And, well. Obviously, we aren't human, but we do, in a way, have bodies, and so, I thought, maybe it all might be the same case for us, too. Or maybe something similar. I'm not sure. But," the angel continued, "as I was reading, I found that there might be a way for us to, ah… share…" he trailed off.

Crowley tilted his head. "Share…?" he repeated.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

"Well, you know that I enjoy dining with you, but…" He sighed. "I-I know you don't usually like eating, and I can't help but feel that you're being left out," he admitted.

Crowley waved his hand, meaning to reassure him, but Aziraphale didn't take it.

"I did some research, in any case. And, well, you've seen me eat, and it's quite a… well, sensual experience, for lack of a better term."

Interesting word choice, Crowley thought.

"Well, I found that the brain releases this- this chemical, called dopamine, when you eat, which tells you that you're happy or pleasured, and so I wondered, well, could there be a different way that you could feel that pleasure, since you don't like eating? And, I thought, well, you take me to lunch quite a lot, even though you don't particularly care for it, and that's very kind of you, and so I want to do something for you, for once, in return, that can make you feel good - not necessarily in the same way food makes _me_ feel good, but still pleasurable. And, well, it might be a bit of a stretch, but I _have_ wanted to share something with you, so I was wondering if I could… have you. For you," he said, blush dusting his cheeks.

_Oh._

"O-or you could have me," he added quickly. "I'm fine either way-"

"I- now??" Crowley found himself asking, his eyes darting to the second floor of Aziraphale's bookshop, his heart fluttering with… arousal? Excitement? Anxiety???

"Ah- well, you see, I, er… well, um… don't get me wrong, dearest, I would _love_ to, but I… rather wanted it to be a bit more… dramatic," Aziraphale confessed. "I'm not quite sure when I _will_ be ready, but. I hope you don't mind it being a surprise."

"A surprise," Crowley echoed, turning and looking ahead at nothing in particular, his voice far more croaky than he'd have liked.

He'd never… done anything. He'd experimented with himself a bit, sure, but he'd never done anything with another person. By the time he'd been assigned anything relating to those more human desires, the Arrangement had been well underway, and Aziraphale was willing to take over, since he seemed to know his way around, er, the _pleasures of the senses_ a bit more than Crowley did. Which was odd, all things considered, Crowley being a demon and all, but they'd always been a bit shit at their jobs, hadn't they? Aziraphale didn't exactly hang a neon sign around his neck proclaiming Glory to God in the Highest, despite that being the one thing that united all angels.

Really, Crowley thought, angels could get absolutely ridiculous. If they weren't on Earth, they had some precious stone or metal adorning their corporations, or four heads, or six wings, or billions of eyes, or ox legs, or some other odd distinctly otherworldly visage. It got to the point where celestial entities couldn't get anything done on Earth without yelling "Do Not Be Afraid!" out of one of their thousands of mouths. 

On the other hand, many people, meeting Aziraphale for the first time, formed four very decidedly human impressions: that he was human, that he was English, that he was intelligent, and that he was gayer than a treeful of monkeys on nitrous oxide.[1]

For all his dramatics, Aziraphale didn't need all the pomp and circumstance of eldritch, celestial abominations. For all intents and purposes, he _was_ quite human. A bit old-fashioned and a tad immortal, maybe, but human nonetheless. So he knew a thing or two about food (he loved it), and about sleep (he preferred not to), and about entertainment (in print, at least), and about sex.

He knew a lot more about sex than Crowley did, in any case.

"Er… when we get around to it, darling," Aziraphale said, his voice… different now, heavier and softer all at once, "I hope I can help you enjoy yourself." 

His hand found its way onto Crowley's.

The warm touch snapped Crowley out of his racing thoughts, his head whipping around to face his angel. "What about you-"

When Aziraphale's eyes met his, Crowley was expecting to see nervousness, or embarrassment, or worry, or _something_.

But no.

It was difficult to see (the whole sunglasses-at-night thing wasn't exactly helping), but there was no mistaking the way the angel's eyes sparkled with desire when they glanced down to Crowley's mouth, the way his thumb slowly and deliberately stroked the delicate skin on the demon's fingers, the way his tongue wet his lips _just_ so before he looked back up into Crowley's eyes. He gently pulled Crowley's sunglasses off, placed them on the dashboard, and leaned forward until there was barely a hair's width between their noses, his hand coming up to caress Crowley's cheek.

"May I?" came the breathless question. Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale closed the distance.

This kiss was different. It was slower, more relaxed, more languid and open and _vulnerable_ than Crowley thought a kiss could be. He found himself melting into Aziraphale's embrace. He felt surrounded by the angel - his essence, his body, his _love_ \- and he couldn't get close enough.

The angel pulled away slightly, and only then did Crowley realize his eyes had closed.

"My dear," Aziraphale said, his lips barely brushing against Crowley's, "If you're happy, I'm happy."

"Angel-" he said, and cut himself off. This was ridiculous. They were being ridiculous. He blinked.

"What do you want?" Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley's mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, and his tongue flicked out for a moment. He tasted a hint of the rain from outside, worn red leather from inside, and, behind a subtle spray of rose-like perfume, just a _touch_ of the old books that always seemed to linger on Aziraphale's clothes.

The angel himself, patient as ever, just… looked at him. Eyes open, curious, inviting, filled with desire and mischief and love.

_Love._

"Here, give me-" Crowley began, then (because words didn't seem too want to cooperate with him this evening) shifted a little awkwardly into Aziraphale's lap, and let his hands rest on the angel's shoulders.

"Can we just… kiss? For now, I mean," Crowley said. 

Aziraphale's eyes softened, and he pulled them together once more.

This was better, Crowley thought. Neither of them were twisted in odd positions, and he could crowd himself into Aziraphale better this way. His hands still didn't know quite what to do with themselves, though. They wanted to rustle through the angel's halo of curls, wanted to cradle the nape of his neck, wanted to trace little shapes into his cheek, wanted to fiddle with his bow tie so he could watch his reaction, wanted to grip his shoulders and pull himself even closer, wanted, wanted, _wanted-_

and then Aziraphale made a noise.

It wasn't unlike the noise he made when he finished a particularly delicious dessert. A pleased _"mmmh"_ right after he'd polished off whatever sweet, creamy delight he'd ordered this time.

And then he made another one, richer, deeper, _darker,_ and it rumbled through Crowley's entire body. He shuddered.

He pulled himself away just long enough to whisper an _"I need-"_ before he dove back into the angel, _his_ angel, pushed himself against him, opened his mouth and invited him closer, and he felt his own voice give way, a rough moan wresting itself free from somewhere deep within.

"My, my, you're- you're really getting into this, aren't you?" Aziraphale teased in between kisses. Crowley only groaned again in response.

"Do you want me to…?" Aziraphale asked, and Crowley gasped as he felt the angel's hand trace a line from his neck to his chest to the button of his jeans.

"N-no, not now, there's nothing down there, just-" and he leaned down to kiss him again, before adding, "Are you?"

"Not yet, dear, not if you aren't," the angel replied, closing what little distance there was.

They stayed like that, their lips dancing together, their fingers gripping each other's hair, pulling themselves impossibly closer, revelling in the gorgeous sounds that slipped past their tongues into each other's mouths. 

Crowley tore himself away for just a moment, his body breathing hard. "Should- should we talk?" he eventually managed, and he found his hands tangled in Aziraphale's hair.

Blush dusted the angel's cheeks, and his eyes - oh, Lord, his _eyes -_ were hooded, his pupils blown wide, his lips red and shining and _perfect._

"I-I do believe we should," Aziraphale said, his voice quivering a little. "You're just…" he trailed off a moment, his bottom lip catching between his teeth, "well, you're a bit irresistible."

Crowley drew in a shaky breath. "Looked in a mirror lately?" he retorted, one corner of his mouth twisting up into a smirk.

"Oh, you wily demon," Aziraphale chided him, his voice filled with affection. His hands gently soothed up and down Crowley's back, and he relaxed into the angel's touch, his eyes fluttering closed.

They sat there for a time, drinking in each other's presence, open kisses being placed on mouths and jawlines and necks, the rush of pleasure giving way to a low, buzzing calm. Rain was pattering on the windows now, and the muffled sound of cars passing by joined in with the sound of their breathing.

"What would you like to do?" Aziraphale murmured, breaking the silence.

Crowley thought a moment.

"I dunno," he eventually admitted. "You're more experienced in…" he gestured vaguely downwards, "all _this_ than me."

Aziraphale licked his lips. "Well, what… would you like for me to have?" he asked, his voice almost husky.

Crowley tilted his head and brought their lips together again and just _imagined._ He imagined them just as they were, in the front seat of the Bentley, but with Aziraphale's cock thrusting up into Crowley, his breaths shaking with effort and pleasure. He imagined Aziraphale riding him, his cock leaking on Crowley's stomach, his hands grasping the sheets below them for dear life. He imagined his fingers sliding into the wet heat of Aziraphale's vulva, making him quiver and gasp and bite his pretty lips. He imagined his tongue inside Aziraphale's opening, tasting him, reaching deep inside him, and then licking slowly upward, making him shake and convulse as he finds his orgasm.

"What are you thinking of, my dear?" Aziraphale's voice, lower than Crowley had thought possible, cut through his racing thoughts.

"Y-you," he got out, just barely. "Y-your… face… when you feel good. It's- I. I like it," he said, inadequately. 

"Oh?" A twinkle of amusement lit up in his eyes. "Anything else?"

"Bastard," Crowley admonished softly. "I think… a vulva might suit you," he said, and tugged on Aziraphale's bow tie until it slipped gracefully out of its knot.

Aziraphale shuddered, his mouth falling open in a smile and his eyes fluttering closed. "Yes, I… I rather think it would," he chuckled. "What about toys?"

"I've… never really… liked them," Crowley admitted as he fiddled with the top button on the angel's collar. "Not on me, anyway."

"What if you were to use them on me?"

Crowley's fingers faltered, his imaginative mind suddenly a delicious curse as flashes of him driving beads and plugs and vibrators into Aziraphale's begging, quivering form plagued him. He felt his mouth being gently opened with Aziraphale's naughty, naughty tongue, and this time he _whined_ into the angel's mouth.

"Should I take that as a yes, darling?" Aziraphale asked as he moved from Crowley's lips down to his collarbone. 

"I think I'd- _Ssssatan_ that's good- I'd, uh, enjoy that," the demon said. "Seeing you, I mean," he added.

"Oh?" Aziraphale breathed into Crowley's neck. "A voyeur, are you?"

"O-only with you," Crowley clarified, trembling from the heat of the angel's divine mouth on him. 

"Mmm, it's a good thing I like being watched then," Aziraphale said, mouthing at Crowley's neck. A moan, high and gasping and _beautiful_ , left the demon's lips.

"Do you think," Aziraphale began, cutting himself off by licking a hot stripe from Crowley's Adam's apple up to the tip of his chin, "you might like to watch me outside of the bedroom?"

"Y'know," Crowley trembled, letting his hands fold themselves back into Aziraphale's curls, "I think I might."

"You could help me," Aziraphale suggested.

"You know I'd love to," Crowley breathed.

"Or I could help myself," the angel mused.

"Y-yes, you could," said the demon, his head tilting back and his mouth falling open in a soundless cry of pleasure as Aziraphale sucked his collarbone.

"I could help myself now," he murmured into Crowley's chest. "I could make a terrible mess of myself in here, and no one would know the wiser, but we would have to be discreet, my dear, and you would _never_ be able to drive your precious car without remembering what happened where we sit."

Crowley could see Aziraphale fucking himself with his fingers so clearly, the angel's slick coating his hands and covering the seat beneath him, making the ruddy red leather slippery and wet and hot and shiny and _fuck_ if he wasn't tempted to watch Aziraphale come undone right there. 

He pulled Aziraphale by his white curls back up to his mouth and kissed him fiercely, letting his tongue slip past those _perfect_ lips, and he drowned himself in the sound of Aziraphale moaning into his mouth. Angelic hands slid down into his jeans and drifted against demonic skin and Crowley's mouth fell open with pleasure.

"Or I could surprise you," came the low growl in his ear. "I could go on outings with you with a toy inside me, and you could watch me orgasm over and over, as many times as you'd like."

"That," Crowley found himself saying, his voice shaking. "Do that."

* * *

1

Contrary to popular belief, the latter three of these assumptions were arguable.

Firstly, Aziraphale was not born in England. In fact, he wasn't Born at all. However, he has lived there for long enough for its culture to seep into his everyday life - its wide range of food, its literature, and its mannerisms have grown to be a core part of his worldly existence. In fact, there are plenty of humans who were born elsewhere and have immigrated to England and have lived in England for a much shorter time than Aziraphale, and are every bit as English as him, if not moreso.

After Armageddidn't, Aziraphale had been doing quite a lot of thinking, and quite a lot of reading, and as such came to the conclusion that labels were nothing more than devices to turn groups of people against each other - "good" and "evil" were nothing more than names to sides, and "man" and "woman" are equal in the Almighty's eyes anyway, and if genitalia don't matter to her, then why would one's birthplace? So really, "English" could simply mean "one who lives in England", but for some reason humans like to compartmentalize themselves, and so nationalities suddenly become much more important than the individual - but that's a conversation for another day.

The second: Aziraphale's intelligence. Well, by human standards, yes, Aziraphale's knowledge is vast - after all, he's lived for six thousand years, has blessed (and tempted) people of all kinds, and has befriended (and, ah,  _ dismissed) _ just as many. He has read every single book in his shop, which is quite literally impossible for any human to do, as he has a physical copy of every printed piece of literature ever known (or unknown) to mankind. In fact, he spent an entire sleepless decade reading every single scroll in the Library of Alexandria, and may or may not have taken quite a few of them without asking as a sort of backup plan for its inevitable destruction. Rebuilding a bookshop of such caliber took a bit longer than he'd anticipated, but  _ someone _ had to take up the responsibility of physically collecting every written work, and he certainly wasn't going to let any humans do the job; their lives were far too small to be able to truly appreciate every word as he did - blessed, cursed, or something in between alike. 

So one could say that he is intelligent, in that he knows quite a lot about quite a lot of things. However, he also suffers from an unfortunate lack of analytical skills. A small list of things Aziraphale has not caught on to yet include: that Sergeant Shadwell was the only member of the Witchfinder Army (until Newt's brief service), and Witchfinder Major Milkbottle was a literal milk bottle; that a brick would not kill the Antichrist no matter how hard it was propelled towards him; that just about everything he knows has been a regurgitation of something he has heard or read; that Crowley has been in love with him since just about the beginning of time (now he knew he loved him, but not for  _ that _ long); and ironically, he thinks too much. Not that any of these were ever made apparent to him - the only reason he was at all competent during The Last Days Before The Rest Of Their Lives was because Agnes Nutter had told him what to do, and the only time he'd ever found out he'd been "played for suckers" was in 1941. His experience in 1941, unfortunately, was not a lesson learned, but a lesson ignored in favor of a much more interesting revelation. 

Which brings us to the third and final human assumption. 

Now, by strict definition, Aziraphale is not gay. Human sexuality is an ongoing conversation which we won't get into very deeply, because that would make this footnote longer than the distance between Heaven and Hell, and it's really quite long enough as it is. In any case, Aziraphale is sexless by nature, and as such does not feel sexual attraction unless it is by his choice and deliberate effort. Humans do not have this luxury of choice. However, Aziraphale is also a being of love by nature, and so his love of books and food and creatures and (some) people cannot be controlled. And his revelation in 1941 made it very clear that he could not control his love of a demon. (Not that he wanted to control it; after a time, he found he rather liked it. Fortunately for both of them, the feeling was mutual. Obviously.) 

All that being said, Aziraphale  _ had _ made a deliberate effort. The gavotte was not the only dance he had learned in the discreet gentlemen's club, after all. He had made quite a few acquaintances there who were excellent teachers, and Aziraphale had learned from them quickly. They taught him that there were other ways to serve others. Luckily enough, a few of the temptations he'd done for Crowley entailed just that sort of service, and so Aziraphale had plenty of opportunities to practice his craft. 

He left every single temptee in a haze of pure bliss.

[back]


	2. ...and ye shall receive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: public sex

"You sure you aren't cold?" Crowley teases.

"Y-yes, my dear, I'm- I'm perfectly fine," Aziraphale breathlessly replies, blush dusting his face.

This dance is familiar. Crowley gives gifts and compliments; Aziraphale receives them with a smile and a quip. Crowley asks a question, honest or sarcastic; Aziraphale answers, whether he wanted one or not. Crowley requests, politely and bastardly all at once; Aziraphale complies in kind.

The tension that sits in the air is familiar, too: that centuries-old contradiction of "too fast" and "more, now, please" all at once; the static floating between them, filled with "when?"s and "how?"s and "I love you"s and "give me your everything"s; the sidelong glances at hands, lips, necks, hips, thighs, and everything in between.

The touching is new, though.

They have been like this for quite some time, sitting at the same side of the booth, nothing between them but slow, loving movement (and a raspberry pastry). Crowley has chastely kissed wine and syrup off of Aziraphale's beautiful lips, and has revelled in the precious sounds Aziraphale makes when he pulls away after only moments of contact.

Crowley's right arm is now wrapped around the angel's torso, his hand gently massaging the soft flesh at his hip. His left hand rests at Aziraphale's lap, his fingers skipping up and down his inner thigh like pebbles upon water, never close or far or long enough.

Aziraphale's right hand holds his spoon just a little too tightly, and his left grips Crowley's inner thigh, a wordless, intermittent retaliation. His tongue reaches for the delectable treat and licks the underside of the spoon, and he watches Crowley's eyes darken behind his glasses as his lips close around his dessert.

Crowley's hand slips up, up, and ever so slightly caresses the innermost fold of his angel, where a small, innocent toy has been buzzing away. Aziraphale shudders and moans around his spoon again, far too loudly for it to be a reaction to a delectable dessert, and Crowley feels the angel's fingers tighten on his thigh and feels him buck lightly into his hand.

He slips the spoon out of his mouth and Crowley catches his lips, his  _ gorgeous _ lips, and then lets Aziraphale pull away.

"That was s-seven, my dear," the angel says, slightly out of breath. "Would you like another?"

Crowley wets his lips, and he smells the arousal below him. A smirk tickles Aziraphale's lips, and he wiggles into Crowley's hand, clearly nowhere near done. 

"Don't you want to go home yet, angel?" Crowley asks as he pulls his hand away.

"Mmm, are you that  _ desperate _ for me, my dear? We've only been out for four hours."

Crowley's Adam's apple bobs up and down again as he swallows, hard. 

* * *

The bedroom door slams shut. (It very nearly takes a miracle for them to get there.)

"You're a right bastard, y'know that?" Crowley growls into Aziraphale's soft neck, letting his teeth nip at the flesh there between breaths. "Absolute bastard," he says, pressing his knee into his crotch. Aziraphale gasps and  _ keens _ at the feeling, and Crowley can tell that he's nearing number nine (his eighth was on the ride home, untouched but for road bumps and that constant tremble). 

"S-so I've been told," says the angel, shaking, grinding into Crowley's thigh, barely coherent. "Crowley-"

"Hm?"

"Now."

"Yeah," Crowley murmurs. "Yeah, alright."

They're already on the bed. Crowley unbuttons the angel's trousers and tugs them down and off, letting them pool unceremoniously on the ground beside him.

"Oh, angel, you're a  _ mess. _ " Crowley grins, delighted at the sight before him. "I've been dying to see you like this."

Aziraphale's legs are spread as wide as they can go, exposing gold lace, soaked through with sweet arousal. A thumb-sized toy rests right at his surely swollen clit, dutifully and relentlessly vibrating. 

Crowley kneels before him, reverent, and laves at Aziraphale through the soaked fabric. Above him, his angel quivers at the sensation.

_ Snap. _ The panties are across the room, clean and neatly folded in their drawer, and Crowley's sinful tongue sinks without resistance between the petal-like folds of his vulva. The toy, now between Crowley's fingers and pushing up against his clit, continues humming. Aziraphale's hands are buried in Crowley's locks, pulling him closer, closer,  _ closer, _ and he can feel his clit throbbing into that wonderful little human invention in Crowley's hand. 

He's not sure how he hasn't discorporated.

"I- Crowley, dear, I think this might be-  _ fuck- _ my l-last one,  _ guh, _ your tongue, my  _ dear, oh-" _ and he's convulsing and spilling arousal around Crowley's mouth. The demon drinks in every last drop, losing himself in the sensation of Aziraphale's walls squeezing around his tongue and his fingers gripping his hair as he rides his mouth through what sounds like the best orgasm he's ever had.

When Aziraphale regains coherence, he tugs Crowley's hair lightly three times, and lets his head fall back onto the bed. He's still softly moaning when he feels Crowley gently slide the toy off of him, and he sighs when Crowley slowly slips his tongue out of him.

He's nearly dozing when Crowley taps him on the shoulder, a warm wet rag in his hand. "You okay?" he asks, golden eyes open and searching and  _ loving _ as he tenderly cares for his angel.

"Never better, my dear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hfgkjdhkfjghdf i know this chapter is so much shorter but i like. Could Not Look At This Fic Any Longer. like i legit started writing this in fuckin july of 2019 so i hope you enjoyed it!!!!! hkdfgslkdjfkgh


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